


love pimples

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7593067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God, they're such messes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love pimples

Hunk had just been trying to study. Well, he and Lance had been - for a pass-or-fail exam the next day that they were trying really hard to pass (after the second time failing). Lance put forth a valiant effort, but as the hours crawled by he grew less and less interested, and though Hunk really did try to maintain his focus Lance’s fiddling and thinking-out-loud were difficult to not succumb to. Eventually they ditched the textbooks for a converted game of UNO (they tried using flashcards instead of actual playing cards) and then, after that failed almost as poorly as their test-taking, they started using their highlighters for body art.

Lance was half-way through a bright orange butterfly on Hunk’s wrist when he wrinkled up his face and sighed. He was wrapped all over Hunk’s back, with his legs around Hunk’s waist and his arms around Hunk’s shoulders, and after sighing he sort of slithered off, the butterfly missing a final wing.

“What’s up?”

“It’s just. I remembered that-”

“We have a test to study for?”

“No, that there’s ice cream downstairs.”

“Oh,” Hunk said, and then Lance’s stomach growled and Hunk must have blacked out because here they are now, crouched in the hallway right outside the kitchen door, having abandoned studying completely for some late-night snack-stealing.

“I hope they have whipped cream.” Lance is in front of him, daring a few peeks into the kitchen through a window in the door before trying the handle.

“Are we really in any position to be picky?”

“Hunk, I told you, I’ll finish the butterfly later-”

“Dude. The butterfly is so not what’s important right now. What if we get caught?”

“Have we gotten caught before?” Hunk frowns.

“No.”

“There,” Lance says, opening the door and flashing a toothy grin down at Hunk, who’s still ground-level. In the dark Lance is nothing but a two eyes, teeth, and a glow-in-the-dark wristband that might’ve said something before, but all that’s left are rubbed-out white letters. Hunk rolls his eyes and grabs onto the hand Lance manages to stretch out to him before dragging them both into the kitchen.

“What if there are cameras this time?”

“In the kitchen?” Lance laughs. “I don’t think they want to be liable if footage ever gets out of what they actually feed us here. When my mom was reading the brochures she thought we’d be getting five-star food.”

“The spam’s not so bad.”

“Hunk, that’s because you perform reconstructive surgery on any food that touches your plate.”

“Everyone has access to condiments, man, if you need help modifying your food-”

Lance shakes his head. “I’m exaggerating.”

“I know,” Hunk says, and Lance looks back at him so fondly that Hunk is glad the lights are off because it’s almost too bright. That’s for a second, though, and then Lance whips around and opens up the freezer.

“Gotcha.” He takes out two tubs and then pops open the fridge. “ _Double_ gotcha.” Lance places a whipped cream bottle onto the counter. “Vanilla or-”

“Both,” Hunk says, already grabbing bowls and spoons and there it is again, that _look_ , but Lance must think he can’t see anything from that angle, so the wattage is turned up more than before and Hunk almost drops a spoon (he can't say why, but something about Lance being all soft-eyed sort of struck him). Then Lance is shifting everything to the ground and Hunk follows, the two of them clawing the lids off of the ice cream tubs and stabbing their spoons in hungrily.

“We really have no shame,” Hunk mentions between spoonfuls. Lance snorts.

“Because we’re eating it right here in the kitchen instead of taking it up to the room?”

“Because we’re going to fail that test a third time.” Hunk’s kind of eased on over to the reality of that statement just as he says it, so it comes out flat and emotionless and he doesn’t think too much of it but. Lance scrunches up his nose like he’s got brain-freeze and then his hand is over his mouth, so fast he practically smacks himself, and he’s choke-laughing on ice cream - and something in Hunk must have been filling up all night because he sees that (god, they’re such messes) and then he’s tipping over, clapping his hand on his thigh and hiccuping.

“Hunk, you’re - ohmygod - you’re _right_.”

“And-” Hunk tries to catch himself before another hiccup but it slips out anyway and sends Lance rolling around on the floor. “ _And_ we’re going to be so sleep-deprived.”

Lance moans. “You’re so right, I hate it. I’m going to have bags under my eyes!”

“And pimples, too, probably.” Lance makes a face at that, harrumphs, and then sits himself upright.

He looks right at Hunk and smiles too big, all sugary sweet and vanilla-chocolate everywhere. “Some things are worth the consequences, huh?”

Hunk doesn’t even bother suppressing his chuckle. “We’ll see how future-Lance feels about that in the morning.”

Lance brings another spoon of ice cream up to his mouth, deposits it, and then twirls his empty spoon over at Hunk like a baton. “Right again, Hunk, right again.”

“Oh,” Hunk leans forward. “You’ve got something on your face.” He swipes his thumb against Lance’s nose, picking up some whipped cream, and then his finger hovers there for the slightest moment. He thinks he’ll just rub it off on his pants or something (where are the napkins?) but then Lance’s tongue darts out and takes it right off his finger, just like that, all casual.

Except maybe Lance’s face didn’t get that memo because he’s red _everywhere_ with eyes like car lights.

“I mean, I was just going to wipe it off somewhere-”

“Hunk.”

“But waste not want not, I guess-”

“Hunk, _please_ stop talking.” Lance doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands because one second they’re playing with the spoon, then the next they’re on his face and covering his eyes, his mouth, his forehead - and Hunk doesn’t want to laugh at what is clearly becoming a crisis for his friend but it’s almost ridiculous how quickly Lance is filtering through emotions right now. Some of them he can’t place, the same way he couldn’t with that look Lance gave him, which isn’t so unsettling as it is interesting. He’s curious. But Lance finally shifts his hands into his lap and Hunk gets the feeling that’s something he’ll have to meddle with another time.

"We should get going." Lance is already up.

"Lance-"

Lance swivels around. "Okay, it was like,  _instinct_ , you know? I wasn't trying to be weird. I mean, not that it's weird-"

"No, I mean. That's. Interesting." Lance's eyes are bugging out again. Hunk absent-mindedly wonders if that's just his natural state tonight. "But we have to put the stuff away. Especially the ice cream, because. It'll melt."

"Right, totally, gotcha-"

"You're putting the bowls in the freezer."

"This is a tense situation, I'm tense."

"I thought you weren't worried about getting caught."

"Hunk," Lance says, and it comes out soft and almost like a whine. "That's  _not_ what I meant."

But instead of following that thought, Hunk stands up beside him and starts rinsing their dishes. Another time, he reminds himself.

He's sure eventually Lance's ears will cool down, and they'll be back in their room and talking and it might come up again. Maybe. But for now they can listen to the hum of the refrigerator and the rush of water running down the sink, and the cool of the ice cream settling in their stomachs can be enough for the night.

 

Hunk wakes up the next morning and slips into the bathroom once Pidge is out of the shower. The combination ice cream and sleep deprivation they'd enjoyed last night starts rearing its ugly head. It makes Hunk think vaguely of the durability of simple sugars like the ones in ice cream while he splashes cold water on his face, which doesn't necessarily _cure_ the heaviness in his feet or eyelids, but it definitely helps. He's still brushing his teeth when Lance stumbles out of bed and into the bathroom with him.

When he hears a gasp of horror he has a good idea what it's about. Lance is pulling at the skin of his forehead and weaseling his way in front of the mirror, trying to get a better look at the little pimple that decided to wake up with him this morning.

Hunk's toothbrush clacks against his teeth as he talks. "People say that when you get a pimple like that, right in the center of your forehead, it's because you're in love."

Lance's face is struggling again, just like last night, trying to settle on a single emotion but unable to and then, like someone flipped a switch, he rolls his eyes and points at the shower caddy he keeps on top of their toilet. "Love pimple or not, it needs to go. Pass me my acne cream?"

"Sure," Hunk says.

He'll meddle another time.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> this is so dialogue-heavy...
> 
> my thought process in this was that lance is conflicted about his feelings for hunk because they're best friends. i mean "lance who is dealing with internalized homophobia as he realizes he's bi" is good too but i feel like fandom has run w/it and made him into a dudebro which... i don't see so. that's my two cents
> 
> but obviously unrequited lunk has lance pining after hunk rather than the other way around (or mutual pining. hm...) i just feel like hunk is more forward with his feelings than lance!
> 
> does this count as fluff? omg


End file.
